Chapter Nine
Nine
That evening, Harper parked a block away from the Pearl Tavern and walked down the busy street, passing several small groups of students and tourists.
As she approached the old brick building that housed the bar, she noticed something she had not seen before: A very old sign had been painted, long ago, onto the side of the building. The paint was faded and flaking, but she could make out the words: Soren’s Pearl.
Harper paused, staring up at the sign. Soren wasn’t all that common a name. She racked her brain: What had Joel said about Soren referring to his sister as his “pearl”?
Pulling open the door to the tavern, she was immediately assaulted by the aroma of stale tobacco smoke alongside the sour tang of spilled beer, vying with the homey smell of popcorn from an old-fashioned, continually popping machine.
She spotted Tariq sitting by himself in a secluded booth, nursing a whiskey on the rocks.
“Just the two of us tonight?” Harper asked as she approached.
“So far, at least,” Tariq said with a warm smile. He stood to help Harper take off her coat, then signaled to their server. “Red wine?”
“Please. And maybe some popcorn—I skipped lunch.”
As Tariq hung her coat on a nearby hook, Harper studied him in the golden light of the bar, and decided he was one of those guys who grew more attractive with age.
When they first met, Tariq was skinny and gawky and nondescript.
He had filled out since then, becoming sturdy and strong-looking, and the planes of his face had sharpened and taken on character.
He was now quite handsome, in a sort of well-built nerd way.
He wore glasses, his dark hair was cut short, he was clean-shaven, and despite working absurd hours at the Monterey Aquarium he managed always to smell good.
“Chet and Penny are working late on a project,” Tariq said. “But Antonio said he’d try to stop by. I’m just as glad, frankly. Nice to have a chance to talk, given…everything.”
A waiter covered in tattoos set a basket of fragrant popcorn and a full glass of wine on the table.
Harper asked him: “Could I ask you a question? I saw an old sign that referred to this place as ‘Soren’s Pearl.’ ”
“Yeah, I think that’s the official name. We all just call it the Pearl.”
“Does it have to do with Soren Perles, of the Perles Mansion?”
The waiter shrugged. “Dunno, I figured it had to do with Pirates of the Caribbean, like the Black Pearl. Or that Steinbeck novel, The Pearl, remember that one from school?”
“I do,” said Tariq. “Depressing story.”
The server nodded. “It was grim, all right. But I’m not from around here, not really up on the local legends. Get you anything else?”
“Thanks, I’m set,” said Harper.
The waiter nodded and headed back to the bar.
Harper took a sip of her wine and coughed.
“Good stuff?” Tariq asked, amused.
“The best.” The wine she had shared with Ellen last night had spoiled her.
Tariq’s voice dropped. “So, how are you really doing, after…everything?”
She shrugged. “I’m okay.”
His gaze did not waver.
“It’s…Obviously, it was a shock. That poor woman.”
He nodded. “Have the police asked you any more questions?”
“Not so far. You?”
Tariq nodded. “Among other things, Detective Serrano wanted to know more about you and what you study.”
“Because of the witchcraft thing? Or…the buried-alive thing?”
“Possibly the poison thing,” he said with a shrug. “He might well be in touch soon.”
“Thanks for the warning. I take it, then, they haven’t figured out who did it?”
“Said they were still chasing down leads. It’s only been two days. But you know what they say about the first forty-eight hours of a homicide investigation.”
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks, surrounded by the typical bar cacophony: the clatter of glasses, the hum of conversation, old ’90s jams emanating from the jukebox.
“I don’t think the detective believed you and I are just friends,” Tariq said as he helped himself to some popcorn. “He kept asking me about ‘our past,’ as he phrased it.”
“That seems strange. Why would that matter?”
“You got me. But it did make me wonder: Why didn’t we ever go out when we were at Berkeley?”
“Well, let’s see…Probably because I was having a lot of sex with Jake at the time, so it didn’t seem proper given that he was your housemate and all. Not to mention you were involved with that cellular biologist, I’m blanking on her name…”
“Angie.”
“Right. She was nice. Whatever happened to her?”
“She landed a good position in Florida at the Department of Fish and Wildlife. We tried the long-distance thing for a while but couldn’t make it work. And after you stomped on his heart, Jake married the next girl he met, and they started having a whole passel of kids.”
“I didn’t stomp on his heart!”
Tariq held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I saw the tread marks.”
“Nonsense. Jake was as over me as I was over him. I’m glad he settled down. I remember he wanted a big family.”
“I always thought you would have kids, for some reason.”
“Why is that?” Harper said, feeling a pang.
“No reason. I just assumed you would.” He played with a napkin. After a beat, he said: “Speaking of dating, I have something to confess.”
“Uh-oh. Is this a two-drink confession? Because I don’t think I want any more of this wine.”
“You should be fine.”
“Good, then. Spill.”
“Delilah and I dated. Years ago, and very briefly.”
“Delilah? Our Delilah?”
“How many Delilahs do you know?”
“But…why didn’t you recognize her the other night?”
He blew out a long breath and glanced around the bar before bringing his gaze back to hers.
“You know what that was like. She was caked with dirt, and I was so focused on helping her that I didn’t even look at her face.
And frankly, it didn’t occur to me—Delilah was such a force of nature, I couldn’t imagine her becoming anyone’s victim. ”
“How come you didn’t mention this before?
“I— It was a long time ago, shortly after I finished my degree and started at the aquarium. We haven’t been in touch for years now. I honestly didn’t think it was pertinent.”
“Okay…And what’s the other reason?” Harper suspected Tariq was holding something back.
Tariq looked uncomfortable. “Also, and perhaps more importantly…I have a record.”
Harper froze, a handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth. “A criminal record?”
“No, an old ABBA album,” he said, lobbing a piece of popcorn at her. “Of course, a criminal record.”
“You’re kidding me.”
He shook his head. “Not my finest moment.”
“What did you do?”
“Grand larceny. Stole a car and crashed it into a building. The court records were sealed because I was a juvenile at the time, just fourteen.”
“This was when you were living on the military base?”
He nodded. “I was a pretty screwed-up kid.”
“But that was a long time ago. Surely that can’t be held against you now.”
“One never knows. I just…” He trailed off with another shrug. “Mostly I didn’t want it to muddy the investigation, get the authorities off track. I didn’t see how it could possibly matter anymore.”
“I get the feeling Detective Serrano didn’t see it that way.”
Tariq let out a mirthless chuckle. “One might say that.” His smile faded as he gazed into his whiskey.
“How long did you and Delilah go out?”
“Not long.” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. “I wasn’t nearly highbrow enough for her. Looking back, I suspect I was a revenge fuck to get under her ex-husband’s skin.”
“Ouch.” Harper took a gulp of her wine. It hurt to be used, to even suspect one had been used.
“And while Delilah was fascinating,” Tariq continued, “she had some pretty wild ideas. She had some odd views of science, for instance. And she was used to having money, so my military brat background and modest aquarium salary didn’t exactly bowl her over. Not really a match made in heaven.”
“Did Delilah have a dog?”
“Not when I was seeing her. Why?”
She shrugged. “I just…I saw a dog hanging around there. You didn’t notice it, did you? Big and black, or very dark brown? Hard to tell in the dark, and of course that night was chaotic.”
He shook his head.
“Thing is, I saw it again yesterday evening, when I went home. I tried to call to it, then was afraid it might be looking for its person, so I went over to the Perles Mansion in case it was Delilah Mason’s dog and had gone home.”
“I always thought of Delilah as a cat person. I doubt she’d have gotten a dog.”
“That’s what Sigrid said.” At his inquisitive look, she continued. “When I got there, a woman named Sigrid was at the garden gate, said she was a friend of Delilah’s. She suggested the dog might be a hellhound, or a harbinger of death.”
“That seems like quite a leap of illogic. More likely a poor lost dog.”
“That’s what I said.”
They shared a smile.
“Problem solved, then. It will go back home, or a kindhearted person will take it in.”
“I hope so. Hey, you’re a biologist…Why do some animals’ eyes glow in the dark?”
“They don’t glow, exactly. They reflect.
It’s called ‘eyeshine.’ Some animals, mostly those who are nocturnal, have a special membrane, called the tapetum lucidum—literally, ‘tapestry of light,’ which I’ve always found poetic.
The tapetum is a reflective surface directly behind the retina, which helps animals see in the dark.
When it reflects light, it makes the eyes look as if they’re glowing. ”
“Interesting,” said Harper.
“What brought that up?”
“At night the dog’s eyes look like they’re glowing.”
“Are you scared of it? I seem to remember you’re an animal lover.”
“I am. Ellen reached out to an animal rescue, so they’ll try to find him.”
“Good.”
They sat in silence for a moment, each lost to their own thoughts.
Two guys at the dartboard were loudly jeering each other’s aim and kept upping their bets.
The tattooed server dropped a tray of drinks, which hit the floor with a dramatic crash of glass on tile; onlookers cheered, and the server held up his fists in mock victory.